As a child, my sister was often the target of bullies. Bullies sniff out the weak, the vulnerable, those who have already experienced the wrath of others. I spent a lot of my own childhood trying to protect Jodi from those who had nothing better to do with their time than to torment a shy, fragile, little girl.
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This whole COVID thing is getting long, tiring, confusing and extremely exasperating for most of us. People start to rebel like children in a sandbox who don’t play fair. They confront each other in anger like the bully in the schoolyard. In many instances we seem to live in a rather thoughtless society whose three favourite people seem to be me, myself and I. It doesn’t seem to matter what part of this mudball we inhabit, everyone is infected…..not by the virus, but by fear, bad attitude, frustration, annoyance, (add your own descriptive here). Information, misinformation, ignorance, conspiracy theories, protests and riots, the numbers are over/under inflated/aren’t real….the list goes on. It doesn’t really matter what you believe, it’s affecting all of us. COVID fatigue is real and should have been considered by minds much greater than mine, long before now.
As I settled back into bed, my senses took stock of my surroundings. I heard Betty stirring peacefully in her sleep beside me. My eyes flicked over the dim shape of CoCo, who was also resting quietly, unafraid and unworried. I then looked up at the ceiling and sighed contentedly, finally at peace. As I drifted off to sleep myself, I couldn’t help but think back a year, to when my life had been different, very different indeed.
Hot, hazy and humid…..well maybe not hazy…..maybe more like stifling and soggy? How about moist and muggy, or maybe sultry and sweaty? Scorching, sizzling, oppressive, sweltering…..an endless number of adjectives to describe the current heatwave. July 3-15 would have been a perfect Mariposa weekend running around covering 10 stages and sweating off these extra “COVID pounds”. Somehow I don’t associate “sultry” with weather that has the infinite ability to make one a squelchy, sodden, cranky mess. One short stroll out and I’m firmly planted in front of the air conditioner drying out.
In 1965, Canada was well on its way to making inter-continental travel from sea-to-sea-to-sea a lot more enticing and convenient. The Trans-Canada Highway had linked the otherwise awkward and barely passable sections of Lake Superior in Ontario and the Rocky Mountains between Alberta and British Columbia. And so, my grandparents decided to take a little trek out of province to see that the world didn’t end in Port Arthur, Ontario (merely life as we know it).
This is the first of a multi part series about my high school track career. I hope that you find it both informative and entertaining. Today I will give you a rundown on the mechanics of track and write about my first race and the aftermath.
May 1, 2020: Prime Minister Justin Trudeau today announced a ban, effectively immediately, on some 1,500 makes and models of military-grade “assault-style” weapons in Canada, including the popular AR-15 rifle and the Ruger Mini-14 used to kill 14 women at Montreal’s Ecole Polytechnique in 1989.
The annual Reg the Cat birthday column is hereby postponed until next week. In its place, I present the following.
I have been in an abyss of grief since my Dear Lois passed last month. I would never have believed that such pain as I am feeling was even possible. But in darkness there is Light, in the midst of despair there is Hope.
The overwhelming rush of good wishes and condolences has been, well, overwhelming. Let me just mention some examples.
-While I wanted to write about music this week, I regret that I need to write about this particular incident, but I think that it’s important that I do so.
Summer is finally here….almost. Summer in Canada means barbeques, backyards, balconies, beaches, bathing suits, baseball, beer and badminton. (Enough with the alliteration, already. Get on with it. Ed.)
Summer in Canada also means that the days are growing longer. Gone are the dreary months of only seeing that pale yellow orb in the sky on weekends and sick days. Life moves outdoors as much as possible as we frequent patios, campgrounds and parks, squeezing every possible second of fun that we can out of this fleeting season, for we know that the leaves that shade us in July will need to be raked up and disposed of properly in October. (Mother Nature always bats last.)
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 